


Heal

by What_Happens_To_The_Heart



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Anxiety, Aromantic, Aromantic Deanna Troi, Best Friends, Coincidences, Coming Out, F/F, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, Lust, Mental Health Issues, Paperwork, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Roommates, Wanderlust, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/What_Happens_To_The_Heart/pseuds/What_Happens_To_The_Heart
Summary: After leaving the Enterprise, Beverly and Deanna are both lost in different ways. When a chance encounter brings them together again, they realize just how much they've missed each other.
Relationships: Beverly Crusher & Deanna Troi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Happenstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of my first long-form fic. It took me far too long to write, and I really hope you'll enjoy it. Hopefully the story will continue for a long time.
> 
> The random side-characters and things contain references to a number of things and if you can spot them (some are much more obvious than others), let me know in the comments! There's two references to TTRPG shows, one to a musician, one to a podcast and one... well, only dust warriors will catch that one.
> 
> Oh and, I'm terrible at tags so let me know if there are any I'm missing.

_"Chief Medical Officer's log, Stardate 53655.4. Acting Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher recording. I have just received a sub-space communication from the medical center on Sapilo IV. The equipment we installed is functioning as expected, and the training is progressing steadily. Nurse Schulz is proving particularly popular as an instructor, and they receive the highest praise from the chief administrator. Two weeks into their rotation, all the new staff members seem to be settling in well, and several of them forwarded messages for us to deliver to friends and family on Starbase 367, where we should arrive in about 20 hours._

_Chief Medical Officer's log, suppleme-"_

The chirp of the communicator cut Beverly off and was followed by the sound of Captain Randall's voice. "Captain to Dr. Crusher."

Beverly raised her eyebrows a little. With her three-week rotation on the USS Atlas almost at a close, she couldn't think what the captain might want her for. She'd never met him before she transported onboard to fill in for Doctor Mercer—the Atlas' usual CMO—while he was away celebrating his ten-year wedding anniversary, so it was hardly likely to be a social call. She tapped her combadge. "Crusher here."

"Doctor, we've picked up a distress call from a transport ship and will rendezvous with it in approximately 40 minutes. I want you in the transporter room to receive."

"Yes, Captain. What can I expect?"

"A fractured arm, smoke inhalation, contusions, probably a few concussions but nothing critical from what we've been told. Communication is a little patchy, but we'll send you what we have so far and any updates we might receive." He sounded unconcerned, and unamused, but so far Beverly had found that to be his default tone of voice.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Randall out."

The communicator went silent, and a moment later a report from the coms officer on the bridge appeared on the nearest console. As the captain had said, no serious injuries were reported. The ship, which ironically enough was full of Starfleet engineers, had run into some engine problems on its way to Starbase 367. The situation was reported to be under control, but the warp drive was down and the ship lacked the facilities to replicate the parts that needed replacing. It also lacked medical facilities capable of taking care of the injured. At impulse it would take them about a week to get to the starbase, but the Atlas could pick them up and still arrive only a couple of hours behind schedule.

Beverly tapped her communicator again. "Dr. Crusher to on-duty medical staff. Please report t-" She interrupted herself, made a face and crossed the floor of the small CMO's office. As the door opened, she found the entire alpha shift medical staff, all two of them, in the sickbay outside.

"Did you forget that this is a tiny ship again, Doctor?" Nurse Xandin asked innocently, the Bolian head nurse's dark eyes glittering with amusement. Nurse Kaes, the Trill junior nurse on duty, hid a smile behind the PADD she was holding.

"Apparently so." Beverly smiled, a little sheepishly. Every time she stepped onto a ship, some part of her brain seemed to think she was back on the Enterprise, and in charge of a much larger staff. It had been a little over a year since she left her post, but she hadn't been on any one ship for long enough to overwrite the habits from her time there. She'd traveled for a little while, visiting Wesley on Vulcan and catching up with some friends from medical school on Earth, before moving to Starbase 367 to join a research project at the Center for Xenomedical Training. Since then a handful of tours on various ships, short ones like this one where the ordinary CMO was temporarily unavailable, had been all she'd had to still the wanderlust that wouldn't quite leave her alone. "We're responding to a distress beacon," she said, passing the PADD with the report over to Nurse Xandin. "Here's what we know so far."

The briefing lived up to its name, and within ten minutes the emergency kit were ready and waiting and two off-duty nurses had been called in to assist with triage. With almost half an hour to spare until the rendezvous, Beverly returned to the small office. "Where was I... Right. Computer, record log." She paused a moment to remember what it was she'd been meaning to say. "Chief Medical Officer's log, supplemental. A personal note to Dr. Mercer from Dr. Crusher. I've had a very pleasant few weeks aboard the Atlas and would like to extend my compliments to all of your staff, and particularly your junior staff. They've been nothing but professional and competent. Oh, and happy anniversary."

* * *

"They're going to start transporting us over in a few minutes," Deanna said, putting a reassuring hand on the upper arm of a wide-eyed young engineer who was standing with a small group of friends, all gathered around a seated woman with a cooling pack pressed against her temple. "Make sure she gets to the front of the line, all right? One of you go with her, just in case, and the rest of you take your things and queue up calmly."

They mumbled their assent, two of them carefully helping their concussed friend to her feet, and Deanna began moving away from the group and toward the next. She didn't have to—she wasn't there in any formal capacity, just hitching a ride in a transport that happened to be going the same way as her—but helping others, calming them, was a role she slipped back into like a comfortable shoe. Familiar and safe, it let her focus on something other than the anxiety that brewed inside her, the way the air inside the transporter was thick with emotion. Nervousness, anxiety, confusion, the residue of pain and fear, it had all seeped in much further under her skin than the comparatively trivial circumstances seemed to warrant.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that everything was under control. The sudden turbulence had been jarring, of course, but there was no mysterious deep space phenomenon manipulating her empathic ability, no hidden conflict to uncover. This was just her, for right now. This was why she hasn't taken new commission yet, why she'd gone back to Betazed for a while. _I just need sleep_ , she told herself. _Then everything will feel better._

"Everyone, we are calmly forming a line to the transporters. Make sure to take your things with you. It will be a few days before the transport arrives at the starbase." With gentle smiles and calm tones, firm but kind hands landing on the arms and shoulders of those who seemed to need an extra bit of physical reassurance, she made her way toward the back of the transport. In her wake, the shaken engineers, fresh out of the Academy and on their way to their first Starfleet posting on or near Starbase 367, got up, shifted their packs onto their shoulders and moved with anticipation toward the bridge and the transporters there. The transporter captain was the first in line, at Deanna's insistence, due to the cut where their temple had impacted the console in the turbulence following the engine malfunction and the probable concussion that came with it. The mechanic, the only other crew-member on the small ship, was still in the engine room, far too upset at the state of the ship to be of any use in managing other peoples' stress-levels.

She got to the back of the vessel and pulled her own pack out from under the seat she'd been assigned. It wasn't much, just a couple of days worth of clothes, a PADD and some personal affects. The rest of her things were still in her mother's house on Betazed. Though she was fairly sure she wasn't going back there anytime soon, a two-week visit to a starbase didn't seem worth bringing a ton of baggage. Once she figured out what she was doing afterward, she could have her things sent on.

Voices rose—the slightly forced cheerfulness of someone trying to lighten the mood drawing unsure laughter from those around. The sound made the band of tension across Deanna's shoulders tighten. Her hand flitted up to her neck and the pressure point behind her ear, for perhaps the tenth time since the engine malfunction. She had always found _eph-lwexat_ , or plexing as non-Betazoids usually called it, to be a helpful technique for managing anxiety, but lately it seemed to have lost its efficacy.

Letting her hand drop from her neck, she picked up her pack and moved to stand at the end of the queue alongside the ship's mechanic, who had finally emerged from the engine room. The final few passengers fell in behind them just as the line shifted forward. As the young engineers transported over two-by-two, the ambient anxiousness lessened little by little. It almost made it worse, the hint at relief without it really coming, knowing that in a moment she would transport over herself and then she'd be in the thick of it again. It was getting hard to breathe...

"I hate having to leave her floating out here..." the mechanic griped beside her. "It's just not right, anything could happen."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Deanna replied. "With the tracking beacon set, you'll be able to come back and get her running again in no time." Her tone sounded flat to her own ears, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I know, but Betty is my baby! I'll never forgive myself if something happens to her before I can get back." He shook his head morosely.

She answered him, but the next moment she had no idea what she’d said. She ran the pads of her fingers over the strap across her shoulder, the uneven texture insufficient to ground her as she stepped up onto the transporter pad.

The hum and tingle of a transporter beam enveloped Deanna, and then she found herself in a small and crowded transporter room. The ambient anxiousness of the engineers increased in intensity again, joined by the emotions—curiosity, concern, professional focus—of the transporter operator and the nurses milling about the room.

"Deanna!"

The red hair, the blue of the uniform, the smile. More than that, the feeling of a familiar mind, of warmth and surprise and affection. They embraced and when Beverly's arms wrapped around her, Deanna found herself on the verge of tears. She tightened her grip, holding on as though her friend was a tether and letting go would mean being set adrift.

* * *

"If you'll follow Nurse Xandin, she'll get you that light sedative and a place to rest, all right?" Beverly told the rattled engineer in front of her. She caught Nurse Xandin's eye from across the transporter room and gestured to the three engineering ensigns she'd just assessed. They were all physically fine, one more shaken than the other two, but nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure. Those with serious injuries, three concussions and a broken leg, had been the first to transport over and had already been brought to sickbay where the junior doctor who headed up beta shift was looking after them.

"If you'll come this way, please." The nurse smiled warmly as she ushered the small group out of the transporter room and down toward the cargo bay where they were housing most of the 30 odd unexpected passengers.

The Atlas specialized in medical missions in the nearby star system—transportation of medical supplies, equipment and, more rarely, staff, and smaller-scale emergency relief. As such, it had a sizable medical and engineering staff for such a small ship but little in the way of extra crew or guest quarters. On the other hand, the crew was quite accustomed to turning one of the cargo bays into an impromptu sleeping hall. It was lucky, though, that this happened on their way back to the starbase, with the cargo bays empty, and not on the outbound trip when they'd been packed to capacity.

The hum of the transporter drew Beverly's attention away from the departing group, and she looked over just as a familiar figure materialized on the transporter pad.

"Deanna!" Surprise and delight tugged at the corners of her mouth at the sight of her friend. "Now this is unexpected!"

As she closed the short distance between them and pulled Deanna into a hug, she caught a whiff of a familiar shampoo. Deanna's arms tightened around her and she instinctively held her closer in return. She couldn't say what it was, but she suddenly felt worried for her friend. The tired slope of the shoulders, the absent expression when she'd first re-materialized, but more than that it was an intuition honed by years of knowing another person. "Hey..." she said, voice low. "Are you all right?"

Deanna pulled back, arms giving up the embrace but her hands coming to settle on Beverly's forearms for a moment, as though she didn't quite want to let go. "I'm fine," she replied, and her smile was small and genuine, but just a little off somehow. "I'm just tired, and I suppose a little shook up, too."

Beverly fixed her with a discerning look, raising the tricorder as her mind switched habitually from noticing symptoms to looking for causes. She studied the readouts. They indicated stress, elevated blood pressure and increased pulse, but nothing that was particularly worrying in itself. How noticeable Deanna's fatigue was, though—now _that_ was worrying. Neither the initial reports nor anything the other passengers had said indicated anything that would strain an experienced empath's abilities had taken place. Engine troubles, a few hours of unexpected impulse travel, a shuttle-full of frazzled graduates—these things were stressful for sure, but she'd seen Deanna keep her gentle composure in the face of far, far more.

"Well, everything looks fine," she said. "I'd still like to run one or two other scans just to be safe. Is that all right?"

A thought, perhaps a polite objection, looked to flit across Deanna's features, but then she nodded and adjusted the strap on her shoulder. "Of course."

The sound of the transporter drew Beverly's attention once more as a Human and a Vulcan engineer materialized on the pads. She looked to the transporter operator. "How many left?"

"These were the last two, doctor."

"Right, good." She nodded. "Nurse Kaes, I want you to show Deanna to sickbay and give Dr. Rubel a hand. I'll finish up here, give my report to the captain and be with you as soon as I can." She addressed the last part mostly to Deanna.

"Yes, doctor. This way, please." Nurse Kaes smiled at Deanna, gesturing toward the exit.

"All right, and how are you both feeling?" Beverly asked as she turned to the two newest arrivals. "Any injuries?"

As she scanned the first one, she saw the doors to the transporter room slide open and Deanna exiting alongside Nurse Kaes. She felt it again, the instinct that something was wrong. Worry stirred in the pit of her stomach but she put aside, focusing on the tricorder in her hand.

* * *

"Have you known Dr. Crusher long?" Nurse Kaes asked as she used a dermal regenerator to treat a small cut on Deanna's forearm, which she hadn't even noticed until the nurse pointed it out to her. She must have scraped against something when the turbulence of the engine failure hit.

"Over ten years now," she replied with a smile. The warm-eyed Trill radiated a sense of bright, genuine friendliness and calm that was a wonderful contrast to the emotions Deanna had been around for the last few hours. With a little physical distance between herself and those still shook up, the worst of her anxiety was abating, albeit frustratingly slowly. "We were assigned to the same ship for a long time."

"Oh." Nurse Kaes hesitated a moment, then gave in to the spark of curiosity in her eyes. "Was it the Enterprise?"

Deanna nodded.

A broad grin spread across her face. "That must've been exciting!"

"It certainly was." A half-formed laugh left Deanna's lips as she replied. "Exciting" was both just the word to describe it, and not nearly sufficient.

"I'd love to do a tour on a deep-space exploration vessel," the nurse continued. "At least a year or so, see what's out there."

"Nothing quite prepares you for it but... nothing quite compares to it either."

"I can imagine. There, all better." She put aside the dermal regenerator.

"Thank you."

"Hey Kaes," the young Human doctor who had been manning sickbay when Deanna and Nurse Kaes got there said. "Hold down the fort while I find the ensign a place to rest, yeah?" He gestured for a young Tellarite in engineering yellow, with a light cast on one arm, to follow him out of the small infirmary. There were only three biobeds, all occupied by the transport shuttle captain and two others who had sustained concussions.

"Sure thing!" Nurse Kaes replied before turning back to Deanna. "Now, I assume that cut wasn't the only reason Dr. Crusher wanted you in sickbay?"

"Well, no, I-"

She cut herself short as the sickbay doors opened once more, inexplicable relief bubbling up at the sight of Beverly entering from the hallway.

"I assume everything's under control here?" Beverly addressed the nurse as she came over and they conversed briefly, Nurse Kaes reporting on the status of the patients in the biobeds, before Beverly turned to Deanna. "Just a quick scan, all right?"

Deanna sensed the gentle undercurrent of concern beneath the familiar level-headed focus that usually dominated Beverly's emotions when she was in doctor-mode. "Of course."

Grabbing a medical scanner, Beverly held the device up in Deanna's direction and pressed a few buttons. "I didn't know you were in this part of space," she remarked.

"It was a bit of a last minute decision," she responded. "I sent you a message last week, actually, but I suppose you were off station."

"Yes, for about three weeks now."

Deanna nodded. She's suspected as much when she didn't get an answer—non-urgent messages usually wouldn't be forwarded to someone on such a brief tour, not unless you asked for it. "I've been invited to hold a seminar series at the Center for Xenomedical Training."

"Oh?" Beverly's eyes flitted up from the screen to Deanna's face on a wave of pleased surprise. "So you'll be around for a little while?"

"About two weeks."

"Well, that's good news!" She smiled widely and despite the fatigue that was asserting itself more and more as the anxiety was softening, Deanna smiled back. Feeling welcome on such a basic, emotional level was comforting, like maybe she wasn't quite as lost as she felt. "It'll be good to catch up," Beverly continued. "It's been too long."

It really had. Since Beverly and, a few months later, Deanna left the Enterprise, they'd only seen each other once and though they sent each other messages semi-regularly there was something lackluster about their correspondence, like they were both too keenly aware that it just wasn't the same.

They exchanged a smile and then Beverly's gaze returned to the readouts on the scanner. "Well, everything looks normal... Your psilosynine levels are a little higher than I'd expect. Did anything happen on the transport after the malfunction?"

Deanna shook her head. "No, not really." It was worrying, but not surprising. The doctor she'd gone to on Betazed a few months ago had said the same thing. He'd brushed it off as a side-effect of being half-Betazoid, but Deanna knew better. Her brain's over-sensitivity to the emotions of others, resulting in elevated psilosynine levels, wasn't innate—it was new. That much she was sure of. "I think I'm just tired," she said. It wasn't true, though it wasn't a lie either, and right now it was all the truth Deanna could deal with.

Beverly regarded her for a moment, then set the scanner aside and nodded. "I could administer a light sedative if you'd like."

Deanna shook her head. "That's all right, I don't think I'll need it." As if her body wanted to express its agreement, she yawned, covering her mouth with her hands. "Goodness. I was about to get some sleep when the engine malfunctioned, so I didn't get much rest." Not that she would've gotten much rest sitting up in a transport full of people, anyway.

"Well then, I think it's time you got some rest," her friend replied. "Doctor's orders."

"No argument here," she replied, grabbing the strap of her pack and trying to ignore the surge of anxiety at being once more in such a crowded space. "Which way is this cargo bay?"

Beverly waved her hand, as though she understood without Deanna having to say anything. "There's a sofa in my quarters. I'll walk you there."

* * *

"Well, here we are." Beverly stepped aside as the doors to her temporary quarters slid open, gesturing for Deanna to step inside. "It isn't much, but it does the job."

"I'm sure it will do nicely," Deanna replied as she entered, her gaze sweeping over the sparsely decorated space.

The room was small, the sleeping alcove taken up by a bed with the plainest sheets imaginable. A replicator was installed in one wall next to a small table with two chairs, and on the wall opposite the door stood a grey sofa. Three weeks was enough time that the drabness of it all was starting to irritate Beverly, but not enough time for her to really do something about it. They weren't her quarters, after all. She was only visiting, and for all she knew she might never set foot on the USS Atlas again.

Deanna walked over to the sofa. Dropping her pack beside it, she sat down, pressing her palms against the seat of the sofa. "Seems perfectly comfortable." Her smile was weary but genuine. She seemed a little better now, perhaps just a result of getting some distance between her and the other travelers, but even so it was clear to Beverly that something was wrong. She bit back on an impulse to ask, to find answers as quickly as she could. _Now's not the time_ , she reminded herself, redirecting her energy to practical matters.

"Let's see," she said, opening up one of the in-wall cupboards. "There should be extra blankets someplace around here. You know, it's lucky this happened on the way back. If it had been on the outbound trip, th-ah! There it is!" She grabbed the blanket and an extra pillow, and closed the cupboard door. "then th-" She stopped mid-sentence. Deanna was lying down on the sofa, fast asleep, her shoes placed neatly by her travel pack. "cargo bay would've been full of bulky equipment..." Beverly finished under her breath, a murmur as warmth unspooled in her chest.

Treading lightly, she moved over to the sofa and put the pillow on top of Deanna's pack, where she'd be able to see it if she woke up. Unfolding the blanket, she spread it over her friend's sleeping form, then carefully adjusted it so it covered her feet and her shoulders, tucking it in a little. Deanna's breathing was even and deepening by the moment—she must've been truly exhausted. A lock of ebony hair had fallen over her face, and Beverly caught herself, fingers only inches from Deanna's face, stretching her hand out to tuck it behind her ear. She let her hand drop, shaking her head. A strange impulse, but she supposed she was just feeling protective.

Beverly moved over to the panel by the door and switched off the lights. Alpha shift, her shift for this 3 week tour, wouldn't be over for a few hours and although sickbay was likely to be quiet for the rest of the trip, she still had to get back there. They'd arrive at 367 in about 20 hours—plenty of time to finish her shift and then get a good night's sleep.

The door slid open and as she left, she cast a look back over her shoulder. The light from the hallway cut a swath across the floor, ending just short of Deanna's face. She looked peaceful in her sleep, and tenderness tugged at Beverly. What a coincidence that they'd ran into each other like this. Lucky, too, that Deanna's visit hadn't coincided with this tour. Returning to Starbase 367 only to find out that Deanna had come and gone in her absence... _It would've broken my heart_ , Beverly thought, and the force of her own reaction surprised her.

She took a deep breath and closed the door. Whatever was wrong, Deanna would tell her eventually. And if it was nothing, if her protective instincts were making her read too much into things, then all the better. Either way, she had two weeks with her best friend to look forward to.

Beverly smiled as she set off toward sickbay. She'd really missed her.


	2. Come on In/Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starbase 367 is packed to capacity but luckily for Deanna, Beverly has a spare room. Catching up over dinner means talking about work, loved ones, plans (or lacks thereof) and, sometimes, new truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it took nearly two months to get this chapter up! Yet, I can't promise chapter 3 won't take just as long, hah. Hope you'll enjoy it all the same :)
> 
> Shout-out to the cheap reference to "Encounter at Farpoint". For some babbling about how this relates to (and deviates from) canon, see the End Notes.

_Guess what? I’ll be coming to Starbase 367 in a few days! I met a Professor Qehrin at a conference here recently and they invited me to collaborate with them on a short seminar series at the Center for Xenomedical Training. I’ll be there for two weeks, so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up! About time if you ask me. It’s been too long._

_Let me know if there’s anything you want from Betazed. See you soon!  
Love,  
Deanna_

Beverly smiled down at the message. It may not be news anymore, but it was still a nice thing to come home to. It had been the only thing waiting on her personal console when she got back. Not that she’d been expecting anything else, really. She had to admit she’d been lax with her personal correspondence lately; the only person she wrote to with any regularity was Wesley, and his responses were sporadic at the best of times.

She closed the message and sent a quick note to her colleagues at the Center, letting them know she was back on base as scheduled and would be back in the lab tomorrow. The tour on the _Atlas_ had been well-timed - the part of the project she was heading had been a little ahead of schedule, wrapping their latest round of testing a few weeks early, so she’d been able to leave one of the junior researchers to collate the results while they waited for the other work packages to wrap up theirs. She was back just in time for the next phase of testing to begin.

Message sent, Beverly left the console and went into her bedroom. Unpacking was a minute’s work - all she’d had with her was a nightgown, an extra uniform, her personal PADD and a book. A shower later, she’d changed out of the uniform and into a pair of soft black slacks and a burgundy henley. She got a cup of tea from the replicator and, darjeeling in hand, plopped down on the sofa, pulling her feet up onto the seat. There were a couple of articles she’d meant to read on the return trip from Sapilo IV, but with the unexpected distress call she hadn’t quite had time. She should be able to get through at least one of them before meeting Deanna on the promenade for dinner, maybe both.

Halfway through the first article, she stopped and put the PADD aside on the coffee table with a sigh. She’d read that last paragraph four times and, through no fault of the writer, she still hadn’t entirely parsed it. She’d always struggled to focus when reading academic texts at home, even back when she was a student. Not that this place felt like a home...

She let her gaze glide over the now-familiar interior. There was nothing wrong with the quarters, not really. They were a good size, neither too cramped nor unnecessarily spacious, easy to keep neat and located just a little ways away from the bustle of the promenade. The all-purpose room was large enough to serve as a combined dining and living room, and there was an extra bedroom, in case Wesley visited. If anything, the fault was with her. It was months since she’d moved to Starbase 367, but she still hadn’t managed to settle. Maybe it was because she knew her time here was limited - the research project that had brought her here was slowly coming to an end, and she had no reason to believe she would stay long after that.

It wasn’t just that, though. She hadn’t known what she wanted to do or where she wanted to be when she left the Enterprise, just that she needed a change. She’d joined the research project to keep herself busy while she figured it out, but she was as lost now as she had in the beginning.

Drumming her fingers against the tabletop for a moment, her restlessness echoed in the small room. _What now?_ Dinner was still a few hours away, and she didn’t much feel like going out, anyway. If not for Deanna’s company, she would probably have opted for dinner at home. She reached for her PADD again and opened the folder for fiction. Maybe a novel would hold her interest better than the article had.

As Beverly scrolled through the list of available books, the low chime of her quarter doors sounded. She looked up, perplexed. _Now who might that be?_

* * *

Beverly’s pleased surprise as the quarter doors slid open was an echo of that in the transporter room the day before - less intense, but no less welcoming.

“I suppose I did say see you soon,” the redhead said with a smile, and the nervousness Deanna had felt as she made her way up from the administrative office, where she’d gone to inquire about the quarters Professor Qehrin had said would be available to her, melted away. She didn’t know why she’d worried about it - of course Beverly would say yes.

Deanna laughed. “No, I know.” She’d missed a lot of things about Beverly, and that streak of sarcasm she kept so well hidden most of the time was one of them. “Can I stay here for a few days?”

Beverly quirked an eyebrow, moving aside to give Deanna room to enter. “Of course, come on in.”

“Thank you.” Deanna stepped inside, looking around as the door slid shut behind her.

The entrance led directly into a living area, a sofa and two armchairs surrounding a coffee table, a bookshelf off to the side. Behind the sofa was a small dining table, a replicator installed in the wall and, in the other end of the room, two doors. Though she recognized a few things in there - a blanket slung over the back of the sofa that Beverly had kept in her old quarters on the Enterprise, a vase on a side-table that she’d bought at some market years ago - Deanna had been in enough starbases and knew Beverly well enough to see that most things in there likely came with the rooms.

Deanna felt Beverly’s curiosity tug at her attention, but let her gaze linger on the sparse contents of the bookshelf for a moment before meeting her friend’s gaze.

“There’s been some kind of administrative mix-up,” she said by way of explanation. “I was told I’d have quarters waiting but apparently there’s just a whole lot of people on-base right now, waiting for transport to postings and things, and everywhere’s full. They said it should only be two or three days before something opens up. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all. You can have Wes’ r- you can have the spare room,” Beverly corrected herself, more amusement than irritation as she shook her head. She moved past the dining table to the door on the right, opening it. “It’s not really Wesley’s room, he’s only been here once. It just felt too weird not to get quarters with a room for him, so here I am with an extra bedroom.” She shrugged, leaning against the door frame for a moment. “I keep meaning to transfer to something smaller but I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Lucky for me.” Deanna touched Beverly’s arm lightly as she moved past her and into the small bedroom. She put her pack on the bed and looked around. The only furniture in there was the bed and an empty desk, a shelf above it holding a few of Wesley’s things - old books, a school science award, a mobile of small starship replicas. Deanna smiled and turned to face her hostess. “I hope you have spare towel. I could really do with a shower...” She rubbed her arm through the sleeve of her grey jumpsuit; it felt like she’d been in it for days.

“There should be some clean ones in the bathroom.” Beverly nodded toward a door on the far side of the desk. “I’ll get you some sheets, too.” She smiled as she pushed off of the door frame and disappeared out of view.

“Thank you!”

The bathroom was small and oddly elongated, ensconced between the two bedrooms and accessible from both, but the water pressure was great and the feeling of hot water on her skin was just what Deanna needed. The sound of the water filled her ears, drowning out the not-quite-noise of being on a starbase. Even more welcome was the emotional quiet of no longer being in a crowd. She was peripherally aware of Beverly in the other room but her feelings, pleasant though they were, weren’t seeping in under Deanna’s skin uninvited. Closing her eyes, she turned her face up against the spray of water and visualized the stress of the trip washing off of her and disappearing down the drain.

Some time later, Deanna emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, a smaller one in her hand as she gently dried her hair. A stack of sheets sat on top of the bed, light blue with a white crocheted lace insert along one edge. She sat down on the bed and ran her fingers along the delicate pattern. They looked old - something from Beverly’s grandmother’s house, most likely - but they were soft to the touch and smelled of fresh laundry. On any other starbase, the mix-up with the quarters and having to find someone to stay with would’ve been taxing considering how she’d been doing lately, but other starbases didn’t have her best friend. Deanna smiled to herself. Sometimes things worked out for the best. 

* * *

As Beverly took the second plate of spaghetti bolognese from the replicator and set it down on the dining table, the door to Wesley’s room opened and a pleased sigh accompanying Deanna into the living room. “That was just what I needed,” she said, pushing a still slightly damp tress of hair from her face. She’d changed into a soft pink boat-neck and grey leggings, and looked a hundred times more relaxed than earlier.

“I bet,” Beverly replied and then gestured to the set table. “I sort of spontaneously decided we’re eating in tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I was just about to suggest it, actually.” Deanna smiled as she came over to the table. “This looks good.”

“Let’s hope! I’ve tweaked the settings for this dish like a dozen times since moving here,” she said and when her friend shot her a questioning look, she continued. “The default replicator menu here leaves a lot to be desired. Do you want wine?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Red wine, two glasses,” she told the machine. That, too, she’d tweaked, so that the synthehol it generated when asked for red wine without any further specifications was now something akin to a syrah. She picked the glasses up by the stems and put one by Deanna’s plate and one by her own before sitting down. Taking a tentative bite of her pasta, she chewed thoughtfully. Good, better than the last iteration but there was still something missing that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Oh well, a mystery for another day. “How long did the trip from Betazed take?” she asked.

“Oh, about six days,” Deanna replied. “I had decent luck, I only had to transfer twice but I have to admit the trip took it out of me a bit.”

Beverly hummed her understanding. As much as warp could take you places at incredible speeds, that was somewhat dependent on finding a ship that was going the same way as you. When you were just one person on a private trip that wasn’t along the most well-trafficked routes, things tended to get a little circuitous.

“It’s funny,” Deanna continued. “how you can spend weeks at warp and it doesn’t feel like travel, but when you’re switching vessels and don’t have your own quarters it’s suddenly exhausting.” She laughed softly, a sound so familiar that Beverly felt it behind her breast-bone, where it knocked against an emotion a few shades away from sadness. She let it go, before it could distract either one of them, and when Deanna caught her eye for a moment Beverly smiled.

“I know what you mean,” she replied. “Even these brief tours I’ve been doing, a week, three weeks like this last one... before I have time to properly adjust to being on a ship, I’m back on base. I keep wondering if I needed this much time to acclimatize when I was younger but honestly I can’t remember.” She chuckled and reached for her glass, taking a slow sip. “It’s a little tiring.”

“Why do the tours, then?” Deanna wondered, tilting her head a little to one side.

Beverly shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I just get... restless. And with a project like this, there’s always a little bit of down-time. You know, when data is in someone else’s hands or we’re waiting for supplies.”

“Has it been interesting so far?”

The question gave her pause, the way questions only did when you really wanted to answer them honestly. “It’s been... engaging?” She hadn’t quite meant to make it sound like a question.

“Uh-oh,” Deanna said, a small amused smile dancing over her lips.

Beverly chuckled. “I mean, it isn’t _riveting_ work exactly, but it feels... worthwhile,” she replied, finally finding a word that seemed to fit. “It needs doing, and if you ask me it’s about time we put some resources toward these sorts of projects.” Humans, Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, the other races that were early to join the Federation - Starfleet medical equipment and techniques were optimized for all of these, with pre-sets programmed into all standard equipment and appropriate doses and techniques drilled into students at Starfleet Medical. But new races joined the Federation every year, and while the standard Federation technology had been able to accommodate all of them reasonably to date, accommodation wasn’t the same as optimization and standardized treatments weren’t the same as specialized ones. “I read this article last week on a study that showed a statistically significant inverse correlation between the length of time a species has been federation members and the average length of time it takes to recover from certain medical procedures. Even disregarding very recent members, the difference between the early federation members and... anyone who’s joined in the last 50 or so years is quite substantial, certainly more so than it has any right to be.”

Deanna shook her head, her face reflecting a portion of the impatience Beverly felt on the topic. “You know, I had always imagined that sort of thing was done as soon as a new member joined.”

“The backlog is shameful, honestly. I mean, we’ve had a Grazerite president, for crying out loud!” And yet it was only now, some forty years after Grazer joined the Federation, that the sort of rigorous testing that adaptation entailed was being done, courtesy of the special project assigned to the Center for Xenomedical Training, an institution which normally specialized in disseminating knowledge rather than generating it.

“Better late than never?” Deanna suggested in a tone that expressed what they both knew - it was a weak defense. “When does the project finish?”

“In a month or two. We’re starting what I expect will be the final round of testing in a couple of days, and then there’s the writing.” The report would be circulated to ships, colonies and starbases all across Federation space, and their results would make their way into textbooks and staff training programs. If the Federation was serious about making up for lost time in this area, it would be the first of many reports of its kind.

“What will you do after?”

“Well...” she said slowly, drawing the word out as she wound some spaghetti onto her fork. “To be honest, I don’t know.” She sighed, and put the fork down. “I miss being on a ship but I’m not sure I’m ready to commit to a long tour. At the same time these short tours just... aren’t the same.”

“I know what you mean...” Deanna replied, catching a smudge of sauce at the corner of her mouth with the edge of the white napkin that was part of the replicator pre-sets. “I’ve been feeling a little lost myself.” She put the napkin aside, smiling a little wistfully. “I was hoping that going back home for a while would help but... turns out visiting your childhood home as its rebuilding after war isn’t exactly a vacation.” She made a face as though she was poking fun at herself, but it wasn’t enough enough to cover up the sadness in her eyes.

Beverly reached across the table and put her hand on top of Deanna’s. The Breen attack against Starfleet Headquarters the previous year had been a shock, and the Borg attacks against Earth had been deeply frightening, but that was still nothing compared to seeing your homeplanet occupied by enemy forces. She couldn’t imagine how that must feel, and silent compassion seemed like the only appropriate response.

Deanna’s eyes warmed a little, crinkling at the corners, and she turned her hand palm up to give Beverly’s hand a brief squeeze.

“So,” Beverly said after a few moments of eating in silence. “Tell me about this seminar series.”

“Well,” Deanna replied. “Do you know Professor Qehrin?”

“Not well, though they seem very pleasant.”

“I thought so too. Apparently they’re doing a seminar series, a sort of refresher for security personnel, about working with telepaths and empaths. Of course they’re empathic themself but they thought having more than one perspective would be preferable, so they invited me to join them.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I think it will be. At the very least it’ll be, as a clever colleague of mine would say, worthwhile.” Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement, and she reached for her glass.

Beverly smirked and picked up her own glass. “To things being worthwhile.”

“Things being worthwhile.” Deanna smiled, and her glass made a not terribly melodic clink when she tapped it against Beverly’s.

“Though technically we’re not colleagues anymore.”

“I suppose not, but I think once you’ve witnessed the reunion of a pair of star-crossed space jellyfish together, you’re stuck with the title for life.”

* * *

“So,” Beverly said as she plopped into the armchair, a recently topped up glass of wine in her hand. “how’s your mother?”

“I think she’s all right, all things considered,” Deanna responded and pulled her feet up onto the sofa. “I’ve been staying in her house but I haven’t actually seen her much. Barely at all, really. She transferred to her new position just after I got there, she’s stationed at the Betazed embassy on Delta IV these days.”

“Oh? That’s quite a ways away.”

“Yes. She and Barin, and Mr. Homn of course, came home for a few days last month so I did get a little time with them," she continued. It was still a bit strange having a little brother, even though Barin was by now quite the talkative three-year-old. Perhaps it wasn't very surprising - they'd spent so little time together, though she did send him video messages regularly. "It’s...it’s very like Mother, somehow. Resistance organizer, but as soon as the occupation was over, she got as far away from there as she could.”

“I can’t say that I blame her.”

“No,” Deanna said, absentmindedly running a finger along the top of her wine glass. “No, neither do I.” Not for leaving Betazed, at least. Experience had shown that her mother’s tendency to run from painful things, to try to act as though they never happened, did more damage to herself than to anyone around her. No, the bad terms they’d parted on when Lwaxana went back to Delta IV after her five day visit a few weeks ago had nothing to do with Lwaxana’s career choices, but something else entirely... Something Deanna had meant to bring up casually all night, and somehow not gotten around to.

A flutter of inquisitiveness made Deanna aware she’d been staring into the middle distance. Drawing herself out of her reverie, she took a sip of her wine and put the glass aside on the table. “How’s Wesley doing?” she asked, putting the something else off a little longer.

“Oh, he’s doing fine,” Beverly responded. “The Science Academy is demanding, of course, though honestly I think the social stuff is more challenging than the studies, at least for now.”

“I can imagine that. There still aren’t a lot of non-Vulcans there, are there?” The general lack of emoting must be particularly difficult to get used to for someone as naturally enthusiastic as Wesley.

“No. I think he said there are two in his year. But he seems to be adjusting.”

“Has he been to visit?”

“Just once, before he enrolled. He does write...” She paused and pursed her lips, then smirked. “Well, sort of. He gets immersed in some project or other and there’ll be complete radio silence for weeks, but when he does resurface, he writes.” She laughed, and the sound tugged the corners of Deanna’s mouth upward, too.

“I think it was a good choice for him, in the end,” Beverly continued, a note of nostalgia entering her voice. “Going his own way.”

Deanna nodded. She knew how proud Beverly had been of Wesley going to Starfleet Academy, and she was glad to see her friend seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Wesley himself: that was his father’s path, and not his. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Beverly hummed her agreement and shifted in the armchair, turning so she was facing Deanna more directly and swinging her legs over one of the armrests as she leaned back against the other. Her feet were bare, and Deanna made sure her gaze didn’t linger on the deep plum polish on her toenails, the shade weaved into a memory she kept tucked safely in a box and only rarely took out.

“Have you been in touch with Will lately?” Beverly asked, her light tone bringing the momentary distraction to an end.

“A little. We write,” Deanna replied with a shrug, flashing her a brief smile. “That center chair is keeping him pretty busy.”

“I bet it does.” There was a pause, a hint of hesitation dispersing before it quite had time to coalesce. “I have to admit,” Beverly continued. “For a while there I was expecting you to transfer onto the _Titan_ , too.”

Deanna laughed, the sound coming out shakier than she’d meant it to. “For a while there, so did I.” There had been something brewing between her and Will when Beverly left Enterprise. Will became Captain Riker shortly thereafter when he took command of the _USS Titan,_ and Deanna had gotten as far as drafting up a request for a transfer there. She never put it in, though she did visit him aboard his new vessel once, just after leaving the Enterprise herself. She’d been very vague about everything in her letters to Beverly at the time, so she could hardly blame her for being curious.

If anything, this was the perfect opening to broach the topic that was on her mind. _Great... just what I wanted,_ she thought, though her inner sarcasm didn’t have much bite. Tendrils of nervousness coiled and knotted in her stomach. She reminded herself again that she had no solid reason to be anxious about this, and then that she was allowed to be anxious even if she didn’t have a reason.

“I decided it was better for me not to work with Will,” she began. “For a little while, at least.”

“Oh?”

Beverly quirked an eyebrow, but the current of concern underneath it wasn’t exactly the note Deanna had intended to hit. “Gosh, that sounded ominous,” she said. She met Beverly’s gaze and smiled what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but when she tried to keep talking, she faltered and her gaze dropped down to her hands where they rested in her lap. “What I mean is, I...” The words were there, hiding behind her tongue, but she couldn’t seem to bring them forth.

“You don’t have to tell me, Dee,” Beverly said when a moment of silence had passed. “What’s between you and Will is between you and Will.”

“I know,” she replied. It was a good reminder - having someone you could talk to about anything was an opportunity, not an obligation. “But there _is_ actually something I wanted to tell you. I had a realization recently.” Taking a slow breath, she kept her gaze lowered and focused on the emotion she felt from Beverly. Sometimes, particularly when she was tired, that was easier to do that without the visual input. She licked her lips and stopped delaying. “I’m aromantic.”

“Oh...”

The simplicity of Beverly’s emotional reaction dissolved the knot of nervousness in Deanna’s stomach almost instantly. Surprise. That was it. No doubt, no disbelief, no disappointment. Just surprise. Looking up finally, Deanna smiled. “It’s been a little strange, coming to terms with it.”

Beverly had moved while Deanna wasn’t looking and now sat leaned slightly forward in the chair, feet on the rug and elbows on her knees. She reached out and took Deanna’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Well, I hope you know that you have my love and support no matter what.”

“I know,” Deanna replied, putting her free hand on top of Beverly’s. She had expected no less of her, nerves aside, but hearing it out loud was no less comforting for being expected.

“I think,” Beverly said then, and there was suddenly a mischievous glint in her eyes. “This calls for a celebratory hot chocolate.” She patted Deanna’s hand as she stood, and in a moment she was by the replicator. “Knowing yourself and letting others know you is always worth celebrating.”

Deanna laughed. “Well, you’re not going to get any objections from me,” she said with a grin. In fact, she couldn’t think of a better response to her coming out than chocolate.

* * *

“It was Will transferring that did it,” Deanna said as she plucked a tiny marshmallow from the whipped cream that crested her cup, the earlier tension in her voice now replaced by a musing quality.

It took Beverly a moment to realize what her friend was referring to. “That prompted the realization, you mean?”

Deanna nodded, popping the marshmallow into her mouth. “I mean,” she resumed after a moment. “he’s my _imzadi_. I will _always_ love him. But that...” Her index finger tapped against her thumb as if she was trying to catch a stray word out of thin air, “That distinctly romantic quality, the infatuation of it all... Practically as soon as he’d left, it was just gone.” She shook her head, dark locks swaying softly about her face. “It was honestly a little disturbing. I wondered if there was something wrong with me, for feelings like that to just... disappear.”

Beverly couldn’t help but frown, but resisted the impulse to immediately reassure. Something in Deanna’s tone told her this wasn’t the time for comfort, but rather the time to simply let her talk, so Beverly cupped her hands around her cup, sipped her hot chocolate and listened.

“But then I realized the same thing happened the last time, when we split up after he was promoted to lieutenant commander. And the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s always been like that, with everyone I’ve been involved with. I think when I was younger I just chalked it up to... emotional resilience?” Deanna made a face, sheepishness written on her features for a moment. “That I bounced back quickly? But I never really reflected over the fact that it was only _that_ part that changed, that whatever other affection I had for the person wouldn’t change just like that, almost over night.

“I mean, I know people think they’re in love and then realize they’re not all the time, but...” She paused again, pursing her lips. “Well to be frank, I think I always flattered myself that my emotional self-awareness was too good for that to happen, that because I’m an empath I couldn’t experience that sort of... misinterpretation of my own feelings. Usually I don’t have an issue separating my own feelings from those of others except apparently I do, at least where infatuations are concerned. I feel a little silly about it, if I’m being honest...”

“Easy mistake to make,” Beverly murmured, voice low enough to show she wasn’t trying to interrupt. She had nothing but sympathy for what sounded to have been quite the emotional journey. Goodness knew she’d confused being on the receiving end of attention and affection with reciprocating those feelings more than once in her life, though admittedly never for very long. All of that must be even more confusing when you could actually _feel_ the other person’s emotions.

“Will was wonderful and supportive when I told him, of course,” Deanna continued. “But I know he wants something... I suppose I can call it more traditional. Someone who can reciprocate the kind of love he has for them. I don’t blame him.” She shrugged. “We were always better as friends than as lovers, anyway. But I think we both need time to get used to this. Goodness knows I do.”

Silence fell over the sofa and Beverly let it linger a moment, until she was confident Deanna wasn’t going to continue. “Dee?” she said then, reaching over and putting a hand on her friend’s arm. “I hope you haven’t been giving yourself a hard time about this.” Even though it was the sort of thing you couldn’t know until you knew it, it also seemed like the sort of thing Deanna, genuine as she was, might unfairly reproach herself for.

“There was a bit of guilt at first, but... I’m all right now,” Deanna responded, though the look in her black eyes said that wasn’t entirely true. Whatever it was that was weighing on her still, she didn’t want to talk about it, at least not now.

Leaning back and taking a sip of her hot chocolate, Beverly made a mental note to keep an eye on that, whatever it was. Tonight wasn’t a night for insisting, however, but for enjoying the company of a good friend after far too much time apart. Minutes drifted by, and as Beverly slowly finished her drink, she let her eyes glide over the now-familiar interior of her quarters once more. Somehow they seemed warmer now, not _home_ but closer to it.

“Do you miss it?” she asked suddenly, not quite knowing where the question had come from.

“The Enterprise?”

Beverly nodded.

Deanna sighed softly as she ran her finger along the rim of her cup. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “And no.”

Beverly chuckled. “Exactly how I feel.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment they sat in the feeling of being with someone who knew just what you meant without you having to explain it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My timeline deviates from the canon timeline around 2374-5. I don't know exactly when and frankly it's too much work to try to work it out. Basically the Dominion War happened as per show canon, but Insurrection never happened (which means Will and Deanna never got back together) and neither did Nemesis (because urgh).
> 
> Will took command of the USS Titan a few year earlier than in canon, mostly because I got confused about the timeline and decided to go with it. 
> 
> The idea of Lwaxana being active in the resistance during the Dominion War and the name Barin (for Deanna's baby half brother) were taken from the story "The Ceremony of Innocence is Drowned" by Keith R.A. DeCandido from the anthology Tales of the Dominion War. I haven't actually read it, just the summary on Memory Alpha (though I probably should!). However, in my timeline Mr. Homn survives the war because I like him. 
> 
> Oh, and "Journey's End" never happened, but Wesley did leave Starfleet to follow his own calling.


	3. Starbase 367 Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta have a montage episode, right? 
> 
> Work frustrations and some light yearning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wanted to be in the present tense... If I'm still happy with that choice when chapter 4 is done, I'm going back to rewrite chapters 1 and 2.

Beverly wakes up smiling. Whatever dream prompted the gentle warmth that wrapped around her in sleep has fled when she becomes conscious. Keeping her eyes closed, she tries to catch the strands it left behind, turning over slumberous thoughts to see what's underneath them but not finding what she seeks. _A shame_ , she thinks, stretching languidly as movement returns to her limbs. She wishes she could remember it; she hasn't slept this well in months.

* * *

By the time Deanna wakes, Beverly has already left. It's a little odd, being alone in the silence of quarters she only saw for the first time the evening before. Intimate, maybe more so because this feels more like a shelter than a home.

She replicates breakfast and a mug of chamomile tea, because there are two different kinds of tension competing for space inside her. One she knows, appreciates even; the nervous excitement of a task that she feels simultaneously well-prepared and unprepared for. She's good with people and, of course, she can speak with authority on the topic of empathic ability, but she's never really done any teaching, not outside helping out at the elementary school on the Enterprise. It's new; nervousness makes sense, but then there's the other tension, the darker one that lurks below. She hasn't worked in months, not since she left Captain Picard's command. She's written a couple of papers, attended a few conferences on and around Betazed, like the one where she met Professor Qehrin, but she hasn't really been around people extensively for more than a day or two in a row. The experience with the shuttle doesn't exactly feel like a good omen; even after two long nights' good sleep, she still feels tired.

She shakes her head; it won't help to think about these things right now. Instead, she reaches for her personal PADD to read through the message from Professor Qehrin one more time, to make sure she's remembering all the details. She finds a newer message there, a note from Beverly asking if Deanna wants to meet for lunch. As she waits for the tea to cool she types a quick response, saying she isn't sure how long her meeting will take and that _if not lunch, maybe an early dinner once you finish for the day?_

* * *

"Welcome back, Doctor Crusher."

"Thank you, Bedran." Beverly smiles at the affable Trill who works the front desk at the Center.

"How was your tour?"

"Oh, pretty uneventful, all things considered." It isn't a negative assessment; supply runs should be uneventful, after all. "Though I did run into a friend of mine."

"How do you run into someone on a supply mission?" He quirks a brow, amusement dancing across his features.

"Well, we picked up a distress call from a shuttle with engine troubles on the way back, and my friend happened to be on it. Turns out she's going to be teaching a seminar with Professor Qehrin."

"Here? Well, isn't that just serendipitous?" He smiles, apparently tickled by the thought. "I mean, of all the shuttles, and all the training centers."

"Yes," Beverly responds with a smile of her own. "Yes, I suppose serendipity is a good word for it." It feels like the perfect word, really, so much so it almost makes her feel bashful for reasons she can't quite put into words. "I should probably get up there," she says. "Do you know if Doctor Ja'hak is in yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Right. Would you mind letting me know when she gets here?"

"Of course not, Doctor."

"Great, thank you."

As she heads down the corridor toward the turbolift, she tries not to think about how much Deanna being there feels inexplicably right. She can’t call it fate, that’s too unscientific a term, but serendipity… _that_ she can handle.

* * *

Deanna nearly walks past the Center at first. The sign by the door is understated, just a plaque of some silvery material on which it reads, in black, standard lettering, "The Center for Xenomedical Training". She might have expected something a little more noticeable, considering the importance of what they do at The Center, but then again, she knows there's a tendency to neglect anything that might be considered routine, particularly on young starbases like this one.

Once inside, she finds a small lobby that is just as non-descript as the outside, or would be if not for the bright smile on the Trill behind the front desk.

"Good morning," he says. "Welcome to the Center for Xenomedical Training, how can I help you?"

"Good morning," Deanna responds. "I'm looking for Professor Qehrin's office."

"That'll be the third floor, fifth door on the left. The elevator down that hall is closest." He points toward one of two halls that stretch further into the facility on either side of the reception desk, and before Deanna has a chance to thank him, he tilts his head and asks: "You're Doctor Crusher's friend, aren't you?"

Deanna smiles, the genuine cheerfulness that radiates off of him contagious. "That's right."

"I thought as much. We don't get a lot of new faces here except students, and we don't have any new ones due in today," he explains. "I hope you enjoy your time here."

"Thank you," she replies. "I'm sure I will."

As she heads down the corridor toward the turbolift, she thinks that if everyone else here is as pleasant to be around, she might even make it through the seminar series without being totally exhausted.

* * *

"I think these are the last of them," says Than, one of the lab assistants assigned to Beverly's work package, as she sets down three PADDs on Beverly's desk.

"Great, thank you," Beverly replies, reaching for one of them. It's been a morning of reading, catching up on what she's missed during her tour. Not very much, since her work package was ahead of schedule, but several reports have been written in her absence that she needs to read and sign off on. A moment hangs in the air, and Beverly knows she could ask how the dinner party Than was so excited about had gone, and doesn't know why she doesn't. "I'll see you at the meeting this afternoon."

The door to her office slides shut and Beverly sighs. It isn't her colleagues. Most of them are pleasant, interesting in their various ways. It's her. She usually needs a little time to warm up to people, to let other notes slowly blend into the professionalism, but this is excessive. A year in, and she still doesn't feel like she knows anyone. Worse yet, she feels like she doesn't know how to get to know anyone.

Oh well, there are reports to read, steps to follow even as she doesn't know where she's going.

* * *

Professor Qehrin's office is neat and inviting, the sort of room that looks like it belongs in an imposing brick building on the campus of some old planetary university. Frames hang on the walls, oil landscapes and family portraits and a couple of diplomas above the desk, and the book has printed books and is just disorganized enough to be charming. A low table, real wood from the looks of it, stands off to the side of the room flanked by two armchairs and the sofa Deanna is sitting on.

"Would you like some sweetener?" the professor asks as they place two cups on a tray on the quaint tea-trolley by the window.

"I'm not sure," Deanna replied. "I've not had Haliian tea before, what would you recommend?"

"Most drink it with just a little honey, though I prefer quite a heaped spoon myself," they smile as they scoop up a hefty dollop and put the spoon in one of the cups with a clink.

"Just a little honey, then."

When the tea is ready, Professor Qehrin brings the tray over and sets it down on the low table. The cups are decorated with a geometric pattern that Deanna vaguely recognizes as being a traditional Haliian style, and the tea is fragrant and floral, with a spicy edge that is rounded off nicely by the honey.

"You're nervous," the professor remarks with a frankness that both feels like home and startles Deanna a little. Although she grew up on Betazed where most people have empathic abilities, she's spent most of her working life around non-empaths and she’s come to appreciate the emotional privacy that comes with that as much as the emotional openness of her home planet.

"A little," she admits. "I've not done much teaching. Well, not with adults anyway." She smiles, and lying is different from just not going into detail, particularly with things like this.

"Oh, don't be," they wave their hand dismissively and stir their tea. "I keep things very informal for things like this. I'll do one or two lectures to start us off, a bit of a refresher on the biological side of empathic abilities, but after that I prefer a more relaxed approach. Discussions, case studies, a few role-play exercises. I keep the schedule fairly light to leave room for reflection and some group work, but I really like to bring in other empaths, particularly non-Haliians, to provide that extra bit of perspective. We're not a monolith, after all."

Deanna hums her agreement as the professor continues. "Differences in the empathic abilities themselves aside, there are so many cultural differences to take into account too. For people like our students, who are working and will work in all sorts of diverse environments, that is just as important."

Deanna smiles. "I agree." Professor Qehrin's enthusiasm for their subject is infectious. "In my experience, the cultural aspect tends to be neglected in favor of the biological, particularly for medical personnel, but it really does have a significant impact on how people perceive the role of their own empathic abilities and of themselves as part of a team, the relationships to their colleagues... All sorts of things."

"Truthfully, that was why I invited you to take part in this." The professor pauses a moment, a hint of sheepishness coming to the fore. "I admit, I've been behind a desk most of my life. I'm great at theory, and of course I have my lived experience as an empath, but I'm primarily an academic. I've never been in deep space, not spent any considerable time on a starship. The sort of boots-on-the-ground experience that you have is just not something I can give the students."

"Well, I'll be very happy to provide that perspective." The encouragement really does help. Whatever is going on with her now, she still has considerable experience as an empathic Starfleet officer and she shouldn't let herself forget that.

"Now," the professor says with a tone of brisk efficiency, the previous topic apparently dismissed. "Shall we look at the lesson plan?"

* * *

It feels as if she's been in at least eight meetings today, though Beverly knows it was really only three. One couldn't have been more than twenty minutes long, none of them drawn out unnecessarily by formalities or redundancies—everyone at the Center is efficient and professional—but even so she was itching to get out of the conference room chair as soon as she sat down in it. It feels wrong, being so frustrated by work she would have found fulfilling at nearly any other point of her career, and just like with her problems finding her place among her colleagues it isn't the work; it's her.

She scrubs her hands across her face and reaches for one of the PADDs that have appeared on her desk since she left her office for the last meeting. _I swear they reproduce..._

* * *

The promenade is bustling and Deanna leans her forearms against the railing on the catwalk above the main stretch of stores and restaurants and smiles, watching as people come and go below. It's plain to see the starbase is packed to capacity, civilian residents mingling with uniformed Starfleet personnel and visitors from all across the sector. It feels good, letting day-to-day emotions—happiness, annoyance, tiredness, exuberance, indecision, exhilaration—wash over her like a breeze carrying scents from a street market. It's been a long time since she was in a place remotely this crowded without feeling on edge. Now, her anxiety kept at bay by the infectious enthusiasm of Professor Qehrin, she feels almost her old self. It gives her hope.

She became a bit of a shut-in there for a while, after she went back home to Betazed, and now she wishes she had made herself get out more. It's a dilemma she recognizes from patients, from friends and colleagues when something that was once a source of pleasant normality has become a source of stress—how do you find the balance between listening to your body and taking care of your mental health, and going so far in your avoidance that it only worsens the problem? How do you know that the balm that soothes—solitude, in her case—won't eventually cause a rash? She has thought about that, worried over it, more than has probably been helpful, but at least now she has stepped into the world again. All other things aside, Deanna has missed people, missed standing in a crowd feeling at ease.

* * *

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Beverly kisses Deanna on the cheek when she finally arrives at their agreed-upon meeting place and finds her friend leaning against the railing overlooking the promenade. "So much PADD-work. I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

"Oh, that's all right, I've just been people-watching."

Deanna turns toward her and smiles, and she looks so much happier, so much more well-rested than the night before that it makes Beverly's workday frustration start to melt away. "How was your meeting?"

"It was good," she replies. "Really good. Professor Qehrin was very nice and I like their plan for the course. I look forward to it starting." As she talks, they leave the railing and start moving toward one of the ramps leading down to the promenade floor.

"When does it start, again?"

"In two days, so I have a little prep-time." She loops her arm around Beverly's and they link elbows as they join the bustle. "And some time to explore the starbase."

"It's not too bad, as starbases go," Beverly says with a smile, a sort of fond chiding. She likes it well enough, has liked other starbases before, but it neither competes with living planetside nor with life on a ship, not to her. "There is a really good Bajoran restaurant just a little ways down here. I thought we'd go there for dinner, if that's all right. I have a hankering for hasperat."

"Lead the way."

* * *

"Commander Troi!"

For a fraction of a second, Deanna wonders if someone on the promenade shares her surname. When she recognizes one of the young engineers from the transport shuttle, it clicks that it's her who is being addressed. She still isn't quite used to being called "Commander"—formal introductions aside, she remained Counselor Troi on the Enterprise even as the pips on her collar changed. That appellation felt a lot more like her but then again, does it really matter which one she prefers at the moment? She pushes that thought aside and smiles at the ensign, who takes it as a cue to approach.

"Hello again," Deanna responds and manages to pluck the name out of the back of her head somewhere. "Ensign Beck, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir!" The ensign beams, a flutter of contentment at having been remembered. Deanna recalls she is only twenty-one, fresh out of the Academy and here to transfer to the ship that will be her first posting. They'd spoken a little while they waited to be picked up by the _USS Atlas_ , about... cooking? Or maybe sports, Deanna isn't sure.

"Ensign Beck was one of my travelling companions the other day," she says for Beverly's favor, and the young human's eyes light up with recognition as they glide over Beverly's features.

"Ah yes, I thought I might have scanned you," Beverly says, setting her wrap down on the plate and picking up the napkin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you out of uniform, Doctor uh- It's nice to see you again," she responds, catching herself quickly almost before it's obvious she doesn't remember the name. "Anyway, I don't mean to intrude on your dinner, it's just that I'm reporting for duty in thirty minutes, I'm on my way to there now and I happened to see you so I just wanted to take the chance before I go to say thank you. Your advice really helped me put things in perspective." She beams, and Deanna feels her cheeks heat a little because that whole day is a blur of just stress and other people's anxiety and Beverly's welcome presence.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. Are you reporting for duty today?" she nods to the pack on the girl's shoulder.

"Yes, sir. In-" she glances at a time-piece on the wall. "In twenty-five minutes. Actually, I should probably get going."

"Of course."

"Goodbye, commander," she says brightly, then nods at Beverly too. "Doctor." A moment later she has disappeared into the crowd, leaving Deanna with the feeling of wearing the wrong shoes.

"Chipper one," Beverly comments with a smile that's half charmed and half amused. "What did you advise her on?"

"You know, I can't quite remember." She tries to say it lightly, but it doesn't feel light. She doesn't usually forget things like that, takes pride in paying close attention. That's part of why she's a good counselor. Or should that be in the past tense? After all, how can she be Counselor Troi if other people's emotions exhaust her? She might have to get accustomed to ‘Commander’ after all...Today has been better, but she knows things like this don't just... go away. She's felt the anxiousness, the hypersensitivity gradually creeping back in ever since they sat down to eat, felt it in the way the skin in her neck prickles, the way she's just a little too aware of how angry the person three tables down is.

"Dee?"

Deanna doesn't start at the sound of Beverly's voice, just blinks and refocuses her eyes on what's actually in front of her. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?" The concern behind the words is palpable with or without empathic abilities and she understands; this isn't like her.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm fine, just a little tired."

As their eyes met across the table, she knows that neither one of them really believe her.

* * *

They don't talk about it later, not as they stroll through the park on level 6 after dinner and not when they get back to Beverly's quarters. Part of having the sort of friendship where you can talk about anything is knowing when it isn't quite time to talk yet, so when Deanna retires for the evening to curl up with a book, Beverly doesn't ask.

Some time later, just as she's finally gotten to the end of the second of the articles that have been eluding here these past few days, she hears the sonic shower turn off. _Now there's a good idea,_ she thinks, switching the PADD off. The bathroom door is still locked, the two doors to the two bedrooms wired together so that one locks automatically when the other does, and she waits for the click that signals it's open. Deanna's voice, muffled through the wall, trails behind it, wishing her a good night. "Good night!" she calls back, reaching for her robe.

The scent of Deanna's shampoo catches Beverly off guard when she pushes aside the sliding shower door, and sends a thrill boring through Beverly's abdomen and lower. It shouldn't; Deanna has used the same shampoo for years, the scent isn't new or unusual but the way the fragrance hangs heavy on the still-lingering vapors from Deanna's shower takes Beverly back to that one night when she buried her face in Deanna's hair, when the scent of it mingled with that of sweat and arousal.

Undressing didn't help, but then why would it? The lightly humid air makes goose-flesh spread down her arms, tingles travelling along her limbs. She thinks it's all the casual physical contact, all those little touches that come naturally between her and Deanna, the hugs and the locked arms and the hands on shoulders. It's like her skin has woken up from a long slumber and now it's asking for more.

Sex had been on her mind even before Deanna arrived, but in the sort of abstract sense of leftover things on your to-do list that you never quite got around to doing. Recycle that dress you never wear, have some sort of sex life again, write that paper for the Starfleet Medical newsletter. How quickly sex has stopped feeling abstract... She shivers, inhaling deeply to try to steel herself.

Turning on the shower, she fixes herself with a sharp look in the mirror. "Beverly Cheryl Crusher," she says under her breath. "Get yourself together." Above and beyond anything else, Deanna is her friend. Her _empath_ friend. More importantly, her friend who clearly has a lot on her mind.

Beverly adjusts the water temperature a few degrees colder and steps inside.

* * *

Arousal drifts in through the wall, drawing Deanna's attention away from the book open on her PADD. It's an unexpected feeling, though not unwelcome, and lights an ember of longing inside her. It's like nostalgia, not for an era but for an instance, a single night when that feeling had filled up her senses. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in, remembering.

The feeling recedes and she doesn't follow it. It's tempting to, but they haven't talked about that sort of thing in this new circumstance, haven't drawn the lines between noticing and snooping.

Sex has started feeling complicated ever since she came to terms with being aromantic. It isn't that she's ever considered it synonymous with romance as a general rule, it's just that most of the time it has happened to be, for her. In the past, sex has almost always been saturated with infatuation and expectations, accompanied by roses and candlelight and tokens of affection, a symbol of a particular flavor of affection and a promise, meant if not kept, of more to come. Now, she doesn't quite know what it looks like.

She scoots to the edge of the bed, setting her PADD aside, and stops. Drawing circles on the bed cover with her fingertips, she weighs the idea in her mind for a few moments. It would be simple enough, going over to Beverly's room and asking, or hinting so she doesn't quite have to ask. It worked that night, might well work now and it would be so nice, getting lost in that feeling again, setting aside her anxiety for favor of other sensations. But then there is the aftermath and how things might get weird, just like they did after that night. It didn't last very long back then, a week or two that felt much longer, but now...even a day of Beverly avoiding her, of worrying things might not go back to normal, feels like more than she could stand.

Shaking her head, she scoots back up onto the bed and picks the PADD back up. A book seems the safer option. 


End file.
